Another Night
by cassierigum
Summary: Hermione is stuck in a war that her friends want her out of. Slight angst, a whole lot of anger and frustration and a little bit of Romance. Sequel to O Holy Night!
1. Nighttime Nostalgia

**Disclaimer: I am not the fabulous Ms. Rowling. If I was, why would I be writing here?**

_Author's note: This is a kind of sequel to my first fanfic, O Holy Night, but it isn't necessary to read it to understand this one. I hope to continue this story – I have a plot all worked out. Enjoy!_

Another night, another bout of insomnia.

Hermione sat in her bed, propped up against the headboard. Her hair was clipped back and her brow furrowed as she read through Joseph Gillams' report once again, still not digesting a word of information. This was her fifth night awake in a row. She had so far survived the days by taking liberal amounts of sleeplessness potion. She was fitful – she had little to no concentration but all the same longed to hit something repeatedly until she could fall, exhausted, to sleep.

But even in her sleep she wasn't safe. Dreams haunted her. Again and again she relived her parents' death, or imagined the death of those closest to her. Continually she was plagued by her utmost fear; the death of her two best friends. In her dreams they died like they had lived and fought. Side by side.

Not only her dreams frightened her. She couldn't bear to take a draught of dreamless sleep and hadn't since the death of her parents. Shell-shocked, she had sworn never to cast off any of the memories she had of her parents. As much as they hurt her, these visions kept her going, kept her angry enough for her not to be able to give up.

Abandoning her work, Hermione threw down the flimsy cardboard folder she held. She looked around at the almost bare room. Aside from the colourful hand-made throw she had received from Mrs. Weasley one Christmas, the only decorations Hermione owned were her photographs, hanging on the wall. She rose from her bed and pulled on robes over her pyjamas. She moved towards the pictures, studying them carefully, though each one was well known to her.

One was of the famous Trio in the early days; Hermione thought it must have been about second year, or possibly third. Third, she decided, noting the gold chain of a time-turner around the neck of her younger counterpoint. And how young she looked! How fresh, and optimistic, and happy! Ron was in the middle; his arm around both Harry and Hermione's shoulders, and all three wore identical smiles. Hermione remembered that day was the day Harry performed a Patronus to an astonished Quidditch crowd, and how unbelievably proud he had been of himself.

The next was of herself, Ron, Harry and Ginny on the Trio's last day of school. Both Ginny and Hermione were smiling through unmistakeable tears. Ron's arm was comfortably snuggled around Hermione's middle and Hermione remembered that that was the day that she and Ron had made their relationship 'official'. Ron could barely stop smiling that day, though Hermione remembered her own feeling of moroseness at the prospect of leaving school forever. Come to think of it, Ron's happy mood may not have been simply the fact that he and Hermione were now a couple – more than likely he was just relieved he was finally leaving school, with its classes and tests, behind. A small little grin playing around her mouth, Hermione focused on the next photograph.

This was just taken a few days after the previous one, Hermione remembered, and showed her and Ron, enveloped in each other's arms, grinning at the camera. Their love for one another was undeniable even then, but Hermione was saddened by the sudden feeling of loss she felt. She barely saw Ron any more – it had been over a month since she last clapped eyes on her favourite redhead.

The last was the most difficult for Hermione to look at. It was a muggle photo, slightly bent and a bit dog-eared. Hermione stood in the centre of the picture, Head Girl badge pinned to her front and her jubilant smile matching the ones on both her parents' faces. Hermione gently touched the photograph, as if wishing she could be swallowed into it, back to the last day she saw her parents alive.

She took a deep breath and turned her back on the photographs. Such happy moments, caught in time. Hermione knew that never again could she be as truly happy as she was in those pictures. But maybe – just maybe – if they won this war, there would be happy moments like those for everybody that came after.

She was awoken from her silent reverie by a tap on her window. She instinctively moved towards it, but then remembered herself and searched for her wand beneath the sea of paper on her desk. She finally got hold of it, and stepped towards the window again. Slowly she opened the latch and pushed it open. A minute owl landed on her hand, and gave her an affectionate nip. For a second Hermione's heart soared. Was it, perhaps, a letter from Ron? She hadn't heard from him in weeks, but hadn't expected to – he and Harry were doing a job for the Order. She petted the owl absent-mindedly, wondering what Ron would be writing to her for, and then detached the envelope from its leg. It was quite large, and strangely stiff. She opened the envelope, hoping to find some of Ron's familiar writing. Instead, a file and a note, written in quite a different style to Ron's, fell onto her bed. She picked up the not, her sudden feeling of elation burst.

_Hermione,_

_I hope you are well and sleeping better. Molly has been quite worried about you, and asked me to invite you for Sunday dinner at midday. We just got hold of these runic symbols from the object and seeing as this is one of your areas of expertise, I thought I should hand them over to you. Owl me if you have any questions,_

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur._

Hermione picked up the file and flicked through it. She dropped in top of all her other papers with a sigh. Just one more thing to think about, she thought miserably. She returned to her bed, and pulled the sheets up to her neck. She thought briefly of Ron and Harry, somewhere boldly endangering their lives to destroy Voldemort. And me here, doing paperwork, she thought bitterly. She picked up Joseph Gillams' report once again, and by dawn she lay asleep, her face tear-stained.

_Author's note: Please review! Constructive criticism only though!_


	2. The Sound of Chocolate

_A/N: Hello again. I just want to mention that this is a Alternative Universe, because I actually expect that old Voldie will be defeated in book 7. So this is just a what if… what if Voldemort wasn't defeated in book 7?_

_**Disclaimer: I am not the fabulous Ms. Rowling, and sadly, no matter how many times I read the books, never will be. She owns everything, except Joseph Gillams, who I'll send her as a present.**_

The Sound of Chocolate

"Good morning, Miss Granger!"

"Nice to see you, Miss Granger!"

"Your Daily Prophet, Miss Granger!"

Hermione hated going to work. This was quite strange, since she had loved getting up three hours early every single school morning to study before breakfast. But work, especially in the office, was terrible. From the second she stepped inside the building at ten to nine every morning, until the second she disapperated out of it, she was treated deferentially because of who she was. Or more importantly, perhaps, because of whom she was friends with. Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Not that she wished she wasn't friends with Harry – she loved him dearly, as a brother, of course - but one of the unfortunate products of said friendship was the attitude of those around her. People she had went to school with would call her 'Miss' and those twice her age would open doors for her, and tip their hat to her (which was quite a thing to see when the hat was a foot tall). And Hermione hated it with a passion.

It had never been very easy for Hermione to make friends – her first months at Hogwarts were evidence enough to support this – but now, despite the fact that the Order was full of people her age, and that she had certainly grown up since first year, she found it impossible to become more than an acquaintance with any of them. Whenever she dared enter a room where others were sitting around, having a coffee break, the chatter stopped and some bloody person always asked if 'Miss Granger' needed something. So 'Miss Granger' had taken to working through coffee breaks and eating lunch outside of her office only when a friend was visiting.

All in all, Hermione found working in an office to be the worst possible thing she had ever imagined. She hadn't even wanted the job. Head of Information, and one of the Inner Circle; it was all a sham to keep her from going on missions. All because of bloody stupid Ron Weasley. Not content with making her the safety guard, he had gone one step further (behind her back, of course) and asked his father, now Head of Logistics, to pull a few strings and get her a nice, sensible desk job.

And then, they'd thrown her a party.

She had been congratulated again and again by a group of people she didn't know, and generally it was believed that she should be happy to get out of the war unscathed. Unscathed. As if they even knew. And there were tinkling laughs, and waiters carrying far too many dainty nibbles. Hermione remembered sitting by the wall, struggling to gain some understand of why a party would be held in the middle of a war, while people were fighting, and dying. She hadn't wanted the job, just as she hadn't wanted the party. And then she was aware of Arthur Weasley sitting beside her, asking her if she would at least try, if only for the sake of Ron. Hermione had looked up and seen Ron's troubled face. Reluctantly, she had agreed. For Ron. She was then gently steered towards a group of people and the congratulations began again, this time, punctuated with questions.

Hermione vaguely remembered hearing the scrabbling of a pen, but there were so many people, that it wasn't until the next morning, upon opening the paper, that she thought about it properly. In such a short article it was amazing that they had made so many mistakes. She was described as 'Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived's long-time muggle-born girlfriend.' She was said to be 'thrilled and proud at the achievement of a life goal'. And when Ron saw it, he promptly threw it in the bin.

Ron. How Hermione missed him. It had been what – five weeks now? Just days after she had returned from her last ever mission – the one where they had finally recovered the mysterious object the Order was now attempting to understand – Ron and Harry had been called away again. And not one peep from them since. Hermione thought about the two of them, both her best friends, one now more than that, and wondered why they had felt the need to leave her behind. She was so frustrated at the fact that she couldn't help, that they wouldn't let her. All through school they had needed her, but now… now they just told her the Order needed her more.

Hermione reached her office, this particular morning, at five to nine. She put her bag on the desk, closed the door and read the few messages that had accumulated since the night before. Ten minutes later, she cleared all her papers off her table (filing them appropriately) and took out the strange runes she had been given the night before. She had seen them before, she was sure, but they were unlike the runes she had previously learnt. Three books lay open on the desk, and as she flipped through a fourth, she wished she were back at Hogwarts, where the library was easily ten times larger than that of the Order.

Some hours later, she was still quite stumped, and getting impatient. If harming a book had not been such a serious offence in her eyes, she would have flung the large tome across the room in a second. As it was, she couldn't help but slam the book down on the table with much more force than necessary.

"Hermione! Studying as always!"

A voice from the door way put an end to her agitation. She caught a glimpse of red hair and her heart soared, thinking it was Ron. Of course, it wasn't, and she knew it couldn't be. Nevertheless her face broke into a smile when she saw who her unexpected visitor was.

"Ginny! I'm so happy to see you! You're back earlier than expected! I didn't think I'd see you till the end of the week!" Hermione rose, and hugged the redhead happily. She drew back to look at her best friend.

"A new scar! What happened?" Hermione said, her voice full of worry at the freshly closed wound on Ginny's cheek.

"Nothing, nothing. Don't worry!" Ginny replied. "I've seen you look worse!"

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ginny playfully, conjured another chair, and motioned at the other girl to sit. They idly chatted, both catching up on each other's news. But Ginny was watching Hermione very closely as Hermione spoke animatedly about Joseph Gillams last patrol, in which he had attempted to apprehend a cat he thought to be an enemy animagus. He had ended up in St. Mungo's for two days and the cat had turned out to be of the common alley variety.

"… and then he tried to cast an immobility charm on the cat – the poor thing was probably half-crazy with terror – but what he actually did was –"

"So you haven't heard from Harry or Ron then?"

Hermione looked taken aback. She struggled to answer the question.

"No, I ha – "

"And you're worried about them?"

Hermione stuttered as she answered, the quick rate of direct questions taking her by surprise.

"Well, of course I a – "

"And you're jealous. And you feel guilty. And confused about why you feel guilty."

" I… How do you know that?"

Ginny smiled, her eyes gleaming. "Weasley intuition, of course."

"Of course," echoed Hermione.

"But let me tell you this, 'Mione, 'cos we're friends," Ginny's voice was serious and low, as though telling a giant secret. "Ron and Harry, though possibly somewhat lacking in the brains department, are the world's best War Mages. So are you. And – trust me here – some day they are going to need you more than ever, and when that day comes, you'll be there, by their sides. And in the end, I'm sure neither of them would have it any other way."

"I know, I know! But once, once they actually needed me to get through the day. Now I'm just someone they can call if they need a… a runic translation," Hermione vented all of her frustration from the last few weeks. "I'm sick of being in here sorting paperwork when they're out there risking their lives!"

"Hermione, didn't it ever cross your mind that they're trying to protect you?"

"I know they're trying to protect me! But I'm not five any more and I can look after myself! I should be helping them!" The last part was shouted, and Hermione vaguely wondered how she had come from laughing amiably to shouting in such a short space of time. Her anger spent, she took a deep breath before continuing, quietly, "I don't want my friends to be killed when I can save them, Ginny. I don't… I don't want it all to happen again…I don't want a repeat of my parents' death…"

The last few words were whispered, and Ginny wrapped her arms around her friend. Hermione felt a tear roll down her cheek. She held on to Ginny, feeling some of the hurt she felt slide away. Ginny moved back, and took both of Hermione's hands in hers, saying;

"Cheer up, old girl. I know I can't say anything to make it all go away, so I won't try. The boys should be back next week, and then you should talk to them about it. But until then, dry your eyes, and we'll go out for lunch. I know a lovely little café we can apparate to. How does lots of chocolate sound to you?"

Hermione smiled, and rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.

"Chocolate sounds perfect."

_A/N: This took a while to write, because I kept thinking Hermione was over-reacting. I would really love if people could tell me what they thought of this chapter, but of course, compliments are also always welcome! ; )_


	3. An Old Friend

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing, except a collection of (dog-eared) Harry Potter_ _books._**

**An Old Friend**

It was Friday, a day that, to Hermione, was one of the most important and saddest days of her week. It was the day she visited Neville.

She had sworn to herself that she would come, every week she could, to visit an old friend and one of the first casualties of the war. Many people had died that night, Hermione remembered. She still believed that the prophecy should have been fulfilled that night – it seemed to fit. But, as she had learnt, life turns out as you least expect it. She could remember a feeling that she could have died that night, that maybe she should have. In her minds eye she could picture the scene. Death Eaters and Dementors, goblins and giants, had attacked Hogwarts. Hermione remembered the shouts of fear, the harsh, cold voices of the Death Eaters, Dumbledore's commanding voice that could be heard throughout the grounds, blasting out spell after spell. And she remembered the pain afterwards, as the remaining students picked through the corpses and casualties, hoping with little hope that their friends would be alive.

Hermione had been the one who had eventually found Neville. He was unmarked and when he looked up at her, he had smiled in a distant sort of way, and then proceeded to pull thread out of his robes. At first, Hermione had thought him merely shell-shocked, and she was overjoyed at seeing him well.

But he wasn't just shell-shocked.

He, like his parents, had been tortured to insanity. Hermione regarded this as one of the most evil acts ever committed, and her vindictiveness had increased considerably when she had heard the final diagnosis. Incurable insanity. If it were not for Ron's strong arms encircling her, strengthening her, she was sure she would have fainted. It was hard – to have a friend who had no idea who you were. It was at that moment that Hermione understood Neville's life-long agony. His parents didn't recognise him.

Neville had been brought to St. Mungo's, and though at this stage it was filling up fairly quickly, they had kept the long-term ward unchanged. He lay there, ignorant of the world and of the war, beside his parents. Hermione visited the hospital regularly, and her hatred of the building increased with each step inside the door she took.

To keep herself from dwelling on the awfulness of the things that went on here – she herself had spent weeks lying in a trolley here – she concentrated on work, namely the runes she was still attempting to translate, even after four days of putting everything else on hold. The staff knew Hermione and many nodded to her on the way up to Neville's ward, but so consumed in her work, she barely noticed. Finally, she reached correct door, took a deep breath, tried to forget about work and entered the room. The nurse on duty looked up and smiled at Hermione.

"He's just awake, love. I think he knew you were coming."

Hermione severely doubted this statement, and much as she longed for it to be true. It was unlikely that Neville would ever remember any of his life again, but Hermione would never give up hope.

Hermione walked over to a bed on the right-hand side and smiled brightly at the occupant.

"Hello Neville! How are you today?" Hermione asked, much more happily than she felt. The young man in the bed, with his round, pink face looked over at her. Instantly, Hermione's eyes filled with tears, but she suppressed them. How much he looked like the young boy she had first met on the train! And how different too.

"I'm Hermione. Do you remember me?" Hermione asked, but already knew that Neville didn't.

"Well, Neville, I just thought I'd come and have a chat with you. I even brought you some Chocolate Frogs!" Hermione sat down, and took the bars out of her bag. She laid them on the bedside table, next to the many plants, all from friends, which had been perfectly cared for.

"Harry and Ron are doing well – I'll ask them to visit you when they come home. Harry is the short, skinny one with black hair, and a lightening scar. Ron is the tall one with red hair. And Ginny – do you remember her? – she is perfectly fine, but she has a new cut on her right cheek…" Hermione continued to chatter away. Sometimes she wondered why she even came, to talk to someone who barely knew she existed. But then she would see him gazing up at her from his bed as she spoke, and her heart would break, thinking of the life Neville could have lead.

"… Look at the time! My lunch-break is nearly up. I have to go, alright?" Hermione rose, twenty minutes later, after running out of topics of interest.

"Goodbye, Neville, I hope to see you next week!" She reached for her purse and then took hold of Neville's hand, gently squeezing it. Neville's blissfully carefree face moved to look at Hermione's hand.

"See you soon, Neville," Hermione said, and exited the room. She always had to almost run from the room so that Neville wouldn't see her cry.

As she hurried down the corridor, her mind full of Neville's face, she heard a voice calling her. When she turned, she saw the nurse from the ward asking her to return. Hermione quickly rubbed her tears away with the back of her hand, and returned, slightly unsure, to the ward once again.

"He wanted to give you something."

Neville stood at the door in a blue dressing gown and shyly handed something to Hermione. It was a Chocolate Frog card. Whoever knew such a small token could give so much joy and so much pain. Suppressing her tears again, Hermione thanked Neville and kissed him chastely on the cheek.

It was only after she apperated back to her office that she looked at the card. It was Dumbledore. Her finger traced the outline of the card that was blurred by her tears. Sniffing, Hermione read the card, smiling at Flamel's name. And suddenly, like a ton of bricks, Hermione knew where she had seen the runes that puzzled her so much. She dropped the card, grabbed her cloak and disapperated.

_**A/N:** To all of you Neville lovers – I'm sorry. And before anybody asks me, Hermione is not now, and never was, in love with him. She just feels very strongly towards him. And by the way, this is by no means the only casualty. Start guessing now!_


End file.
